Published

Moving into my own life

The maple tree in front of my house, in one of those rare moments when my yard didn’t look like a dump.

There are a few places this post could begin.

I could start by noting that I have a bad case of ‘grass-is-greener’-ism. Every time I walk down a residential street, I look in the windows and think of the life I could be having there, and how it would be different from the life I lead now.

I could start by talking about my occasional fancies to move some place closer to work or hobbies. Waltham (between Matt’s work and mine), Sturbridge (close to larp sites!), and the apartment complex down the street from my office have all been entertained.

Moving is as much a state of mind as anything — admittedly, one I’ve been rotten at cultivating. It’s deliberate life design: “who am I going to be when I live here?” Our surroundings mold us as much as we form them.

Moving is also really freaking hard, on an emotional and physical level.

Maybe that’s why I’ve pushed house-related inconveniences and infelicities off as a “tomorrow problem,” dreaming of living somewhere else, rather than fixing the things that are right in front of me.

So, starting in 2018, I am moving — into my own life. I am going to do the things you do when you move: go through my crap and getting rid of what no longer suits, make our house into a comfortable place to live, and keep it that way through regular maintenance. I am going to make it the sort of place I love to spend time, instead of the kind of place I dread to come home to.

I might even try to repair our relationship with our neighbors 🙁

The nice thing is? Compared to 2006, when we bought this house, I have a lot more disposable income, and can pay people to do things I don’t want to do, or don’t have time to do. Like mow our lawn, or renovate the bathroom.

Also this doesn’t involve renting a truck or hiring movers, which I consider a win.